“You probably had a much more enjoyable Sunday if that makes you feel any better,” I say. Part of me wants to also tell him how lucky he is that he doesn’t even think about working over a weekend or doing extra work because he’ll never know what it’s like always needing to work twice as hard for half the credit, if any. But I don’t say that, because having to explain that is exhausting in itself.
He shrugs. “Not really. I had a hangover, had no food in my house and the only highlight after walking Goldie was listening to Lenny Kravitz on repeat thinking about how much fun dancing with you was.”
“Oh, that was the highlight was it?” I tease.
Charlie blushes, actually blushes, and it pleases me a lot more than it annoys me. “I mean, the kebab I had was pretty good,” he tells me and I lean over and punch him playfully.
“Is it weird that I also listened to Lenny Kravitz on Sunday? And I also watched a ton of old Strictly episodes to see which steps we did.”
“You did?”
“Yeah,” I say and it’s possible I’m blushing now. It’s also possible that it pleases Charlie because he’s looking at me with a wonky smile on his face.
“Wait,” he says as his expression changes, falling very serious, like he just remembered something urgently important.
“What?”
“I’ve just had another idea,” he says in a rush and grabs his pen again.
I look at the time on my laptop. “Charlie, we’re getting kicked out in five minutes. It’s too late.”
“No, it’s not. Wait, wait, wait. What about this…” Charlie turns over a blank page in his notebook. In a rush, he draws three squares not dissimilar in position to the three concept sketches I had in my PowerPoint. “Each one is similar to what you sketched but they show scenes of people who clearly love each other. Parents with kids. A wedding party. A group of female friends toasting themselves. Whatever. We can figure the details out later. But the love is clear in each one, crystal fucking clear.”
“The love?”
“Yes, love. That’s the currency we’re asking people to buy into.”
“I’m not following,” I say but I watch as Charlie is now writing in the place where my tagline had been on my draft. But instead ofWhen it’s time for something special… Status, he’s writingLet Love Rule with Status.
“Let Love Rule? That’s a Lenny Kravitz song.”
“And now you know what music we’ll be using.”
“That will cost us,” I scoff.
“Yes, it will, but we know Status have the budget for the right campaign. Think about it. The song is perfect. It’s edgy and rocky but not too… you know, head-bangy. It’s a catchy and memorable phrase and for lots of people it will serve up a healthy dose of nineties nostalgia, and for the younger generations it will introduce them to an absolute stonker of an album. And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the not-so-hidden hopeful message that it contains; it’s super queer-friendly too. You know, now I think about it, Lenny Kravitz should be paying us to use his song.”
I snort a laugh at that idea. “I don’t think so. I just worry it will be too expensive, and too big a risk.” I’m saying all this but it’s not necessarily what I’m thinking, or rather, what I’m feeling because I can feel the swirl in my belly, the one that tells me an idea has real potential and should be explored. It’s the same feeling I get when after hours of drawing in my sketchpad I start composing something that really appeals to me, something I want to have on my body, or in another lifetime, something I want to tattoo on someone else’s body.
“But listen, it may be the only thing that really costs us, because think about how simple and easy this will be otherwise.”
“I mean, the pitch decks will be easy to put together and the budget forecast too.” I think out loud.
“You like it, don’t you? You think it’s good.” He nods at me encouragingly with a wide smile, and it’s not clear if he’s asking me a question or confirming my thoughts. I study him as I think about his idea more, but for some reason, my thoughts drift away from that and they focus on something I hadn’t noticed before and I am clueless why. Because Charlie has creases framing his smile, the kind that look like quotation marks bracketing his mouth. They’re not exactly dimples but they’re more than just lines too. I suppose you could say they’re laughter lines, but they are most pronounced when he’s smiling and I’ve never heard the phrase smiling lines. Whatever they are, I realise that I like them. Which is weird. Because I don’t like people’s dimples or wrinkles or smiling lines. I like people’s tattoos and piercings. I like their off-the-wall haircuts or edgily alternative style. I like people’s clothes and shoes and the way they pout while listening to music. I certainly don’t like the little creases that frame a smile. I certainly don’t like people like Charlie… Unless.
Unless I do like Charlie.
I don’t think I like Charlie. Sure, I liked fooling around with him on Saturday night and I can’t lie and say the prospect of possibly fooling around with him some more this coming weekend after my sister’s engagement party hasn’t crossed my mind. But I don’tlikeCharlie. He couldn’t be further from my type. He couldn’t be more different to me. He couldn’t be closer to the kind of person I would never ever fancy, not in a million years.
No, I don’t like Charlie. At least not like that. I am quick to course correct and drop my gaze from his smiling lines or whatever they are.
I don’t like Charlie.
But I do think I like his idea.
“I mean, it’s got something. It’s not that dissimilar from my original idea, let’s be honest,” I explain.
“No, you’re right. You absolutely built the foundation for it, but don’t you think it’s got more to it? It’s more original, right? It’s more enticing. It’s more memorable. And it’s more inviting, which is exactly what a hotel brand should be, right?” Charlie talks animatedly and his bright eyes shine.
